


Under My Skin

by wisteria921



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: But Mostly Hurt, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, no plot only vent fic, tw - graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisteria921/pseuds/wisteria921
Summary: Caleb thinks too much, and he copes.
Relationships: Nott | Veth Brenatto & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

> ⚠️ Big trigger warning for graphic self-harm! Like, fr, don’t read this if it’ll trigger you (or do if you like to find fics that’ll trigger you on purpose, I can’t judge because that’s what I do and also I’m not your mom). But take care pls!
> 
> Tbh: I wrote this because I was inspired by some sentences from the last page of my journal because they sounded like lines that’d be in an edgy yeeting fic LMAO

Caleb mumbled his goodbyes for the night, drawing little attention from his friends who were for the most part deep in conversation, drink, or both. He pushed his own empty glass away and felt a tug on his coat as he stood up. Looking down, he was unsurprised to see Nott peering at him quizzically.

Before she could ask, he explained softly, “It has been a long day, my friend, and I think I will retire early tonight. Do not worry about me; have fun with them.” He gestured at the rest of the Nein and forced a smile onto his face. He hoped it didn’t look like a grimace.

“If you say so, Caleb...” She gave him a customarily nervous smile in return and reluctantly let go of his sleeve. 

“Gute nacht.”

With that, he grabbed the book he was reading and turned to head upstairs into the dingy room he shared with Nott. It was always nice to spend the night unwinding and getting a little drunk with the rest of the Nein, especially after a fight as harrowing as the one they’d had earlier in the day— that manticore had almost gotten the best of him before he melted its eyes in its sockets and reduced it to nothing but a pile of bones and ash. But now he was getting tired, and he couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

Caleb unlocked the door and barely shut it behind him before collapsing on the bed. He rubbed his eyes for a long time and thought.

He could not stop thinking. 

His expression turned into an even heavier frown and the hollow feeling in his chest grew as he remembered the smells of burning flesh and hair and the sounds of screaming, choking, and then nothing but the roaring of flames and the noises of a house crashing down on itself. The sight of the inferno rose in his mind, and it was all he could see. 

His gut churned with panic and hatred as he killed his mother and father again and again until eventually, finally, he’d decided it was enough. With a cry, he tore his hands from his face— noting with a detached feeling of humor that he must’ve scratched it a little with his nails— and reached for the small knife that he kept concealed under his side of the mattress. 

He stood purposefully, only blacked out for a moment before regaining his vision, and made his way into the bathroom on unsteady feet. He sat on the toilet lid without a second thought and pulled apart the dirty bandages covering his left arm.

Thick, rounded scars stared at Caleb like completely white eyes. He ignored them and lifted the razor-sharp blade in his other hand, marveling at it for only a second before tearing into his colorless skin.

The noise in his head quieted, just a little, and then more with each slash he made. He made over a dozen lacerations, none more than a few inches long or deeper than the dermis, but that was enough for the job. The pain was something he could focus on, something tangible, and it grounded him. Made him feel present and aware of his body again.

The stinging sensation, now setting a large patch of his skin alight, was not exactly painful, though. Caleb certainly didn’t feel like he was suffering from it. It felt good, almost pleasurable. He relished in it and used the back of his hand to smear the blood, just a little, into fascinating swirls of red so bright it nearly looked fake.

Satisfied enough— though he will never really be satisfied and the craving will never really leave him— he set the knife down. He used fresh gauze from the bathroom’s scant first-aid kit to calmly apply pressure his wounds until they stopped bleeding so heavily and then left it on before re-wrapping his arm. As the burning feeling and the blessed silence set in, he sighed in relief.

This is what he deserved, and he couldn’t ask for anything more, Caleb thought. He let himself laugh, just a quiet giggle at his own insanity, and pocketed the knife so that he could return it to its spot.

A moment later, he was laying back on the bed, still hollow inside, but feeling more collected and more like himself again. He was okay. He contemplated between sleeping and reading, but only a minute and six seconds had passed before the bedroom door creaked open and his companion joined him for the night, causing him to silently thank whatever gods were on his side tonight for his breakdown’s impeccable timing. 

Nott scampered onto the bed next to him and didn’t say a word, but after a moment she raised her eyebrows at him. He broke the silence by chuckling again. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You’ve got that creepy look on your face, have you been wankin’ or something?”

Caleb almost choked on his tongue. “Nein— no, I have not— why do you—“

She only laughed. “Your face is so red it’s like a beet!” He buried his face in his palms and groaned. 

“Nott!” If he smelled a faint, metallic tang on his hands, it didn’t matter.

“But really, I think you actually do have somethin’ on your face, let me see!” Then—

She reached over and pulled his hands away, ignoring his embarrassment. At least it was starting to fade. He tilted his head at her, confused, then was struck by a pang of fear.

Nott softly patted his cheeks and asked, “Where did this come from?”

“Was? Where did what—”

“The scratches!” She leaned in and sniffed at him. “And it smells like blood? Caleb...”

He jolted and tried to get his nerves under control. Damn Nott and her senses, she was just too good. Quietly, he responded. “I became a little bit stressed out and accidentally scratched myself earlier, but it is fine now. Please do not worry—“

“Caleb!” It looked like she was going to exclaim something else, but her gaze softened. “You can’t do that to yourself, okay? It’s not good for you! You can come talk to me, you can talk about it... you don’t need to hurt yourself,” she said, looking sadder with each word. She still clung to his arms as if she didn’t want to let him go. He ignored how his left arm protested as his cuts became agitated under her careless fingers. It felt good.

Caleb smiled vaguely. The level of irony was insane. If only she knew who— what— he was. What he did. She and Beau never reacted the right way when he told them about his parents, his past; they still hadn’t realized how horrible he really was, and he knew this because they would not think of him the same way once they understood.

“Danke, thank you Nott, but I am fine. It is not that big of a deal.”

He couldn’t wrap his head around why she was reacting like this, why she cared so much. But when she crawled closer to him on the bed and made herself comfortable by his side, he couldn’t bring himself to move away.


End file.
